Fallout (Crank 3)

my wish not to discuss the possibility.

He has, in fact, been pretty darn quiet

for most of this very long ride. When

the radio dissolves into a static dead

sea, though, there isn’t much to do but talk.

And since he isn’t about to initiate

conversation, I ask, “What’s prison like?”

He thinks a minute, says, Pretty much like

you see on TV, I guess. Except until you

experience it, you can’t really understand

what it’s like to live in an oversize crypt.

For ten years? I’d die of claustrophobia

poisoning. “What’s the worst thing?”

He thinks again. Toss-up. The smell—people

stink, let me tell you. That, or the boredom.

Wow. I thought he’d have some racy

stories to tell me. But yeah, I get boredom.

BOREDOM IS AN OVERSIZE CRYPT

Or twenty

straight hours

in a car (sort of a crypt on

wheels, if you think about it)

with someone you don’t know.

Even if that someone might

be your father. I still can’t

think of him that way. (So why

are you here? Stupid?)

I really must stop thinking

parenthetically. Carrying on

a silent conversation with